


Missing: 1 albino mutt w/ring worm; no reward (or the weight of what's left behind)

by huffspuffsblows



Category: DOGS (Manga)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3282812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huffspuffsblows/pseuds/huffspuffsblows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How long's it been since they last saw his ugly, scowling mug? It's hard to forget a burning, feral gaze like that. It's even harder to rush to fill in the space left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing: 1 albino mutt w/ring worm; no reward (or the weight of what's left behind)

**Author's Note:**

> An introspective-ish piece in Badou's POV during the time Heine goes "missing" down below. Observations about the church, those of them left behind, and their least favorite mutt.

She's since shaken off the well to do but occasionally suffocating refuge of Miss Liza, returned to that dusty old church and her dresses [that man-lolicon-fucking-liar's voice lingers like a particularly annoying ghost haunting someone's study] and her broom. But she isn't bothered there, protected, in fact, by the stories they tell about that Kiss on the Cheek-- not to mention the presence of Muscle Girl.

Muscle Girl who skulks around creaking pews, white knuckle grip on that sword of hers like it'll take a bite outta her heart or slot the pieces back into place all wrong like some kid mashing puzzle pieces in sideways. Shadows are gaunt beneath dark eyes. The Shit is still giveth, however she's grudgingly impressed with the Hail Mary he came up with on the spot at one time. The little old lady who'd ventured so far just to offer up the dregs of wheezy prayer to someone who might not be listening anymore...well she wasn't as much. How the fuck was he supposed to know people actually came to pray at these places and weren't looking for a good time? [Not the girl, never the girl, never ever afuckinggain]

[Or a Bad Motherfucking Time in Badou's case. Every fucking case, jeeeesus.]

The phone number and crude lopsided dick scratched onto the pew in front of him indicates otherwise. Some people need to learn some goddamn detective skills! Quit thinking it's the Gardner every time, get a life.

[Side note: is there some sorta universal maximum weight of ten bricks in all little old lady's purses? Inquiring minds.]

The little angel fish wrinkles her nose at the ashes which drift from the end of his cigarette where it dangles between two curved fingers. It christens the seat on his other side and he manages a guilty look, just for her, just to compensate for the lack of leather boner douchebag who belongs on her opposite side-- 

where he should be reaching out slim fingers to cup Badou's face and do something so, _so_ romantic: crush until his cheeks hollow and his lips purse, till it hurts enough to elicit a shriek, a side glance from God and his Uppity Bitches, and the corners of that jagged mouth are supposed to slant up into an asshole smirk. 

Badou Nails works enough miracles to make Macgyver second guess his single [natural blonde] pube, paper clip and blueprints of the White House. But all in all it won't add up, won't fill in the gaps like cigarettes between his fingers or pasta between his teeth or silent laughter brought about by sardonic bullshit.

The smooth drawl offering commentary on the scale of Badou's screams from one to the genre of Screamo, commentary on requiem for a dream [again...], commentary on the econo- okay picture established, the guy needs a better hobby than arranging his leather from Fuck Off to Night On The Town and probably thinks himself a critic. It's fucking sad but no one will ever have that perfect headlock that'll make the edges of his vision fuzzy quite like Heine does. So fucking pathetic. So he should get his ass back up here, drop the deuce that is the fucking drama, and tell Badou as much in that stupid constipated drawl, maw curved into a slashed out grin.

Badou startles both himself and Nill when he places his hand atop her head.

Curious cornflower blue eyes peer up at him with wonder. He allows himself a smile. Even makes sure it's a nice one, pretty easy for her.

"Well kid, I guess I'll haveta drag him back up here by that stupid hair of his. He's gonna regret me letting you at him. He might even cry." 

Unlikely. But the very image has her giggling [and maybe this is another reason why he confesses to her so much, because it's so quiet but it fills up his head and his chest and he can feel the weight in his shoulders and chest lessen]

Her little wings perk up immediately in order to flutter a fierce beat. Thin arms flex, there's a fire in her eyes, watch out. When Badou laughs his chest feels a little less tight.

[Get back here, dumbshit. She gets a punch and I get some drinks.]

[He doesn't miss him, fuck no not in a million years, he's not that much of a sadist. Badou can crap easy without some mangy piece of shit breaking down his door and shoving a pathetic half used roll of 1 ply toilet paper at him, only to give him three minutes before he's dragged out to some fuckawful job]

[He's just tired of the same old scene, he's tired of leaving behind and being left behind and _saved_ , with nothing but his own ass and a scream following him down, down, _down_. He's never gonna live this down]

It's just weird. Badou doesn't look forward to more ventilation by way of lead now that his barely human shaped shield is gone. Then again, when's the last time he looked forward?

[Time to look _down_ ]


End file.
